


Defect

by The0verboss



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, But like before it, Ears, Episode: s07e06 Treachery Faith and the Great River, Fix-It, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Shameless Smut, and I mean shameless, this is very important because Weyoun’s ears get me hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29142252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The0verboss/pseuds/The0verboss
Summary: Weyoun 6 shares one last encounter with Legate Damar before he defects. That it that’s the fic. This was an excuse to write porn.
Relationships: Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek), Damar/Weyoun 6 (Star Trek)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	Defect

**Author's Note:**

> Special shout-out to Tinsnip for Cardassian terms and biology. And to Howelle-heir for the dominionese. I’m sorry if I butchered it. 
> 
> Chronologically this takes place before Treachery Faith and the great river and in the same universe as my other Weyoun 6 fic. 
> 
> I’ve been sitting on it for a while, because I’m a neurotic mess. Enjoy

From the moment he stepped into the comm center on Cardassia, Damar knew there was something wrong with the new Weyoun. It wasn't just the antiseptic smell of him, something sterile that burned his s’oc the first time he sipped the air near the clone. No, it was deeper, more existential than physical, something subversive.

He lacked his predecessor's capacity for cruelty, but not just that. Weyoun 5 had always been on top, receptive Vorta genitalia notwithstanding, the ambassador had always been the one doing the fucking. He'd grabbed Damar by his hair on their return to Cardassia, after Dukat’s catastrophic failure. He’d demanded obedience, adherence to his orders, incensed and unwilling to suffer the same incompetence that had led to the loss of Terok Nor.

“I want to win this war as badly as you do. Cardassia demands it and I will not fail her.” 

“No, you won’t, as I do not intend to give you nearly so much leash.” 

Weyoun 5 had ridden him that night, Damar's hands secured behind his back as the Vorta bounced in his lap. Perhaps another divergence of the Weyouns would be their desire for this kind of physical intimacy. Lusty creatures dressed up in cool diplomacy. Although with his cho’ch engulfed in the hot alien ajan of the Vorta, Damar had found he didn't quite care. For all their respect for authority, Cardassian’s could tend toward hedonism, and it had been so long since Damar had seen his wife, or any other willing bedmate.

But it hadn’t lasted. Weyoun 5’s demands growing more and more unreasonable. Damar’s own inability to control the situation evident the more he drank. And the guilt. He’d never been a leader before, never the Gul, always the Glinn. Dukat had been better suited for the kind of self assured reserve necessary for dealing with a species like the Vorta. It had come to a boiling point like all intolerable situations eventually do. When Weyoun 5 died screaming in agony on the transporter pad, Damar hadn’t been able to keep the smile off his face. No matter how short lived the victory was.

His replacement had arrived in a matter of days. But where Weyoun 5 had been well suited for the war, been bred to be a leader, Weyoun 6 was a wealth of indecision. He'd demurred the first time Damar reached for him, weeks ago, big lilac eyes needy even though he’d waved him off. Distrustful, lingering memories of the last face Weyoun 5 had ever seen. 

This too hadn’t lasted. Damar was no more a new leader, and with the new Weyoun’s distracted, indecisive nature, it took no time at all for their relationship to advance quickly.   
Now, looking from where he is, laying over, and inside the soft little Vorta, the one he’s begun to think of as his own, maybe wrong isn't the right word. If it is, Damar can't find it in himself to care.

“Oh! Oh, please. Please!” The Vorta whines so sweetly, hips rolling and grinding, legs spread wide around Damar’s hips. He's flushed violet across his nose and ears. Mercy, his ears are so purple they look painful, Damar thinks, leaning down to breathe across them. “Oh! No! No, you mustn't!” Weyoun 6 wails, but his stretched hole floods the moment Damar does it. 

“But you want me to, look how you gush for me when I do that.” He's sure he could slide a finger in alongside his cho’ch. Slide it in and curve it straight into Weyoun’s sweet spot, grind it until the Vorta forces him out with a tidal wave. 

“Blasphemy!” Weyoun keens, even as he feels his kamara clenching. Soon, oh soon. Soon he'll spend and Damar will stop torturing him this way. He feels the jump of Damar's cho’ch, pressed deep, and can't help how he leaks around it. It feels so good, Damar feels so good, and the Founders, they've never, his ears-they've never...

He can't think it, can't, not when he's like this, it's... 

“Yes and you are so sacrilegious aren't you, Weyoun.” Damar whispers, hot breaths teasing Weyoun's ear ridges and he's so close. No, no he mustn't. Anywhere but his ears.

“No! I'm faithful!” but he's clenching tight, his rhythm being lost. “Oh Damar!”

“Let me, Weyoun. Let me kiss your ears. You just have to say yes, and I'll put my tongue where you really want it.”

“No, oh no, oh Founders!” it's building, a flood, and Damar isn't so much thrusting into him anymore as he is squirming in the way of Cardassians, whole length stuffed in, but it's not hitting Weyoun right. Not enough to push him over.

“Yes, yes or I won't let you finish.”

“Oh! Please, I can't!” he cries, hips jerking, trying to pull Damar in, trying to thrust back on a cho’ch that's all but stalled. 

The grin on Damar's face is wicked as his hand slides down to where he's sunken inside the soft purple genital slit. He touches above the opening; and it is so different from a Cardassians ajan, no scales, only soft violet lips coming to a bit of a point at the top. Weyoun shudders and sobs at the contact. 

“I can keep you like this all day, Ambassador.”

“And...and…” of all the ways Weyoun falls apart, his loss of speech is perhaps the most satisfactory. To drive a Cardassians to such a state is a feat, and of all the races he's interacted with, Damar has found the Vorta to be the most like them where conversation is concerned. They speak eloquently in diplomacy, and are verbose in their praise of the Founders. Weyoun is particularly gifted in both areas, even if he hasn’t mastered the Cardassian gift for flirtatious argument. “And even...if you did, I, oh I could not…” 

“Who will know, That you gave me your ear? I won't tell.”

“My ears… are… are only, oh, only for the Founders.” Weyoun forces the words out; a mantra, a commandment, an explanation he's given Damar more than once. “I hear only their wisdom.” that only the Founders may touch his precious ears is implied.

“And your ajan? Is that also for the Founders?” 

“My...my..”

“You've given me that, and all the rest Weyoun. Give me this last bit.” He leans down again, lips so close, so close and Weyoun does want it, Damar can tell, his Vorta’s natural lubrication is pouring out around the cho’ch in his kamara, staining the sheets at the prospect. But he won't just take it, no, he wants Weyoun to give it to him, to ask. “Give me your ear, Morva.” Damar circles his thumb roughly around the protruding nub at the top of Weyoun’s slit as he asks. He can feel the Vorta’s legs shake, his hips jump. He watches Weyoun’s eyes roll back into his head. Poor thing. 

There's a sound like breaking glass, and it echoes in Weyoun’s plum flushed ears. A shattering. It's his resolve.

"YES! Oh, oh please!" It's only another blasphemy and he has been full of them lately. The worst of his sacrilegious thoughts not yet born to light. This, oh this is a lesser sin, and he wants, oh how he wants!

No God ever made him feel like this. 

Damar laughs and pinches Weyouns sensitive little nub as he dives for a ridged ear.   
Ecstasy, uncharted, unbearable ecstasy. Damar's tongue is a brand licking over sensitive violet ridges, never before touched. Never, the founders had never…

"Hnnng!" His kamara is seizing, pouring, holding tight to Damar's cho'ch. He's spilling and yet, Damar's tongue and thumb are drawing it out. Oh, how good it is, the best agony. And it's not slowing. Worshipful Founders, it's going on and on. 

"See, see how good I can make you feel."

"The flood! Oh its coming, it won't stop! Oh, oh!"

"Will you go mad like this?" Damar asks, suckling at Weyoun’s ridges and still his thumb continues circling. He can't thrust, The Vorta’s kamara is holding him too tightly, pulsing in quick succession. 

"Ah! You must stop! You must!"

"I won't."

Damar's arms go around a lithe waist, palms pressing into a sweat slick back, lifting, settling Weyoun in his lap, "I won't ever stop. You gave me your ear, you’re mine now."

They're kissing and it's all Weyoun can do not to lose it completely. 

“Oh Damar! Oh please!” he couldn't stall his hips if he wanted to, rolling in waves, down to meet the Cardassian pushing up into him. He knows Damar craves his heat, the warmth locked away inside his body, new and shared only with this man. A secret, greedy desire he hasn't voiced coils in his gut. It had been shapeless once, something small, foreign. Now it has grown fangs and he wants to ask. Shouldn’t, Wouldn't have, only now; now he's given Damar his ear, could he? 

It’s unfair, he’s going to leave, he’s going to defect, he’s going to...

“Corat. Call me Corat.” Damar whispers against his neck, sipping the air, rolling the flavor of the Orchid oil Weyoun dabs behind his ear against his so’c. It's more than a name, the request, it's a sign of trust. An offer and an acknowledgement. Cardassians do not give their first names to just anyone. 

It stirs the wicked thing Weyoun feels, the desire to own and he can't help it. It isn't natural, his species doesn't possess others, they are possessed and then only by the Founders. It doesn't change how he feels about Damar. He has to ask, has to try, because the idea that Corat could share this with another Weyoun...

“The next one. Please Corat, don't touch him. Not like this. Please, not like this.” he begs, pulling Damar's mouth from his neck to kiss across cool lips. He wants this intimacy for himself. A new mantra beats through his ears in the broken places where his resolve once stood.   
Defective, defective...

“You mean…” Damar tries to ask, but Weyoun's kisses are quick, kitten licks against his lips that stop him.

“Weyoun 7, don't, please don't.” please let this be for me, not Tava.

“Ok. Ok, Morva.” he breathes and then they're kissing again. Damar's fingers trail down the ridged Vorta spine before settling at slim hips. With a firm grip he can help Weyoun bounce in his lap, and the angle is that much better for it. 

“Waiyau!” He wails and knows the endearment will not be caught by the translator. His pleasure is rising again, swiftly. He's full, so full of Damar and it's so good. He's clenching, and he can feel how wet he's made them both, soaked bed sheets chafing against his knees. He's going to come, again! "Oh! Damar, please, make me! please! Again! Again!"

“My name, say my name.”

“Corat...Corat!” He comes on Damar's cho’ch in pulsing waves, a second orgasm more intense than his first; and how can that be, how can his body stand it? his kamara overflowing down his thighs. Rapture! 

"Another my Morva? So greedy."

It doesn't linger like the last, Damar's hands holding his hips still. Spent, he slumps against the firm Cardassian chest, shudders, content now to allow Damar to squirm against him. It's slower this time, but his body has learned to take pleasure from Damar this way, and he knows it’s better for the other man than all the thrusting Weyoun needs to achieve orgasm. 

“Are you close?” He asks into a scaled ear, breath damp. His hands dance delicately, too delicately, over inflamed neck ridges while his mouth teases the scales of Damar's ear. A surge of possessiveness rises in him again. This is his Cardassian, who has shown such stamina tonight, who gave Weyoun his name in exchange for the Vorta's ear. "Tell me Corat. Please."

“Yes.” It’s a tense admission and Weyoun pushes his hips down harder, swivels them to put pressure on the thick base of the Cardassian cho’ch inside him. 

“Let go, Let the rain come. Fill me." The Vorta’s voice is beseeching and Damar has always loved the way Weyoun begs. "Corat, fill me.” And that’s it, Damar is spilling over. His spine goes taught and he pulls the Vorta to him, before rolling them both over into an exhausted heap.  
Damar's weight on him is welcome and Weyoun spends the time cataloguing the scales at his neck. Committing every ridge to memory. He knows he’s procrastinating. A shameful indulgence when there's so much he needs to tell this man, and so little time. 

"Damar." He calls softley, and a blunt reptilian nose bumps against his neck, breathing him in. 

"Did someone say something?" Damar mumbles into the shoulder where he’s laid his head. Weyoun smiles when he feels a gentle nip on his collar bone. 

"Forgive me. Corat." He can feel Damar’s satisfied smile stretch against his neck.

"Yes, Weyoun? What can a humble Legate of the Cardassian Union do for you?"

Weyoun can’t help the laugh that slips from him. Damar’s face is a picture of contentment, lips curving roguishly in a self satisfied smirk. "My, you are chatty once you've gotten what you wanted."

"I'm Cardassian, we're always chatty."

"Yes well," It’s now or never. And never isn’t an option, he need’s Damar to make this work, needs him to help him and to understand why. “There’s something I have to tell you. You’re not going to like it.” 

“Just like a Vorta, finish one task and jump straight to the next. Can’t we just enjoy-”

“The Founders have no intention of honoring their alliance with Cardassia after the war is over.” It’s out of his mouth before he can think of a more diplomatic way to say it. Probably for the best. 

The body on top of his stills.

"How do you mean?"

"I suspect they intend to eliminate your species." Weyoun delivers the news softly, but without sympathy. Just the facts. He can't let the haunted feeling of his last visit with the female founder take over him, not if he expects to get through this. 

A strong Cardassian hand finds its way to Weyoun's throat, a threat. Damar sits up, looks down at the Vorta in his grasp, and Weyoun hopes his face is neutral. 

"And why are you telling me this." He begins to squeeze as he speaks and one of Weyoun's small hands jumps to grip his wrist. 

"Because I don't want that to happen." He chokes, gasping as his windpipe slowly closes. 

"You expect me to believe you would betray your founders? That you would give me this information-"

"I gave you my ear."

"A ploy."

"A promise."

"Who can trust a Vorta's promises! You lie with every other breath."

"Not to you. Please, Corat. I have a plan."

"And when I am caught in your web, the Dominion will execute me for treason. Will you smile while they put me to death."

"Please, just listen to me. I can not do this without you." 

For a beat, Weyoun fears he’s miscalculated, that Damar will snap his neck, but no. The hand is loosening, and the mask of the Legate slips from Damars face and he’s just a man again. He looks so very weary.

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because it is not just for Cardassia. The Founders, the link, they’re sick. Please. For Cardassia, and the Dominion I need your help.”

Another silent moment passes as Damar stares down at him. Finally he asks, “What do you need?” 

***  
Later, much later, when Weyoun is in hiding, tucked into a rocky crevice he’ll brush a hand against his ear. Then behind it to where his termination implant sits, altered. 

_“So you just need me to what?”_

_“It’s a chemical mixture, injected straight to the brain, I doubt you could remove the device, but if you just cut one of the circuits it should be fine. I could even press it and appear to die, if the need rises.”_

_“This is treason.”_

_“I know.”_

_“You’re betraying your Gods”_

_“I don’t believe that.”_

_“What do you believe?”_

_“That I can help them. Save them, and your people, Corat. Everyone.”_

_“You’re a fool, this is-“_

_“The only way.”_

_“I will have to send ships for you. Pursue you.”_

_“I am sure you will play your part marvelously.”_

_“We will be enemies.”_

_“Haven’t we always been?”_

_“I thought, now, that things had changed”_

“They will change.” He murmurs, shuffling himself deeper into his hidey hole. Odo should already be on his way, and he will show Weyoun the next step, a new path. Yes. This will work. It has to work. “I’ll make them change.”


End file.
